


Intoxicating

by wouldyouliketoseemymask



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Arkham Asylum, F/M, Mind Manipulation, Original Character(s), Romance, crane/oc, fear toxin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 18,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wouldyouliketoseemymask/pseuds/wouldyouliketoseemymask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is she a pawn to him, or something more? Crane/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Do you trust me?" Crane asks. He strokes her hair, weaving his fingers in between the dark strands.

She looks up at him, her eyes wet. Silent tears run down her cheeks, leaving behind black trails of mascara. She smiles, her lower lip trembling.

Crane reaches forward and brushes a tear away, her makeup leaving a smudge on his fingers. He cradles her in his arms, running his fingers up and down her back in slow, soothing strokes. He can feel her fear, her apprehension, and he savors it, sipping it like a fine wine.

She lays her head on his shoulder, his jacket wet from her tears, her fingernails digging into his arms. He allows her a few minutes of silence before leaning back and gently lifting her face, his hand under her chin. He leans in close, her breath hot on his face, his lips inches from hers.

"Do you trust me?" he asks again, his voice soft.

He looks into her eyes, full of fear and love, and he knows he has won.

"Yes," she whispers. Fresh tears spill down her face, and she wipes them away, smiling. She extends her arm, accepting what is about to happen.

Her eyes never leave his as the needle presses into her arm.

She leans into him she begins to feel the toxin's effects, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face to his chest. He buries his lips in her hair as she screams, her nails digging into his back. She begins to sob and he pulls her head back, crushing her lips with his, his face wet with her tears and sweat, her chest heaving against his. His mouth fills with her screams and he tastes the salt of her tears.

He kisses her until her screams turn into whimpers and she collapses into him, her breath ragged, her skin soaked.

"Shhhh," he says, stroking her face, soothing her. "It's all over now. You're with me. Shhhh." He smiles as he looks down at his victory, gazing back at him with infatuation and awe.

"I love you," she says, her voice weak. She laces her fingers through his and brings his hand to her lips, planting a trail of kisses down his arm.

"I know," he says, smiling.

She is his experiment, his acheivement, his victory.

She is his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

A young woman wrings her hands nervously as she stands outside the entrance of Arkham Asylum, the wind biting at her face, turning her pale cheeks pink. Her dark hair is pulled back into a tight bun, a few loose strands framing her face, clinging to her glasses. Snow falls on her coat and she brushes it away absentmindedly, indifferent to the cold. She takes a deep, as if preparing herself, and walks through the asylum entrance, through the doors which so many enter and so few ever leave.

* * *

 

Dr. Jonathan Crane sits at his desk, pouring over his notes. His fingers tap angrily on the desk in a frantic rhythm, the sound filling the office, echoing off the bare walls.

The last few experiments had been a disappointment, if not failures. The patients were proving to be repetitive test subjects, their behaviors and reactions predictable and ununique. Even slight tweaking of the formulas of both the toxin and the serum failed to illicit any new affect in the patients; they still scream and moan, drowning in their tears, eyes bulging out of their sockets, just like any other "session".

Boring.

He glances at his watch. 11:00 AM. Time for his meeting with Dr. Joan Leland.

As he walks down the hall, displeased at the inconvenience of the meeting, his mind wanders back to the notes in his briefcase. He needs new test subjects; the patients have far outlasted their use. Acquiring them, however, would be more than difficult, if not impossible.

He pauses in front of Leland's office door. He'd completely forgotten what the purpose of the meeting was. He considers his position at the asylum to be nothing more than a charade, his activities there nothing more than going through the necessary motions. His real work takes place at night in the basement; everything else is simply a facade.

He slowly raises his hand and raps his knuckles sharply against the door.

"Come in," a woman's voice says warmly. A look of disgust flashes on Crane's face. Leland's voice is always sickly-sweet.

Crane reaches down and turns the knob, opening the door just enough to stick his head through. "You wanted to see me, Dr. Le—I mean, Joan?"

Dr. Leland smiles. "Yes, Jonathan. Please, come in," she says, gesturing towards a chair in front of her desk.

Crane opens the door completely and steps into the office. His gaze falls on a young dark-haired woman sitting across from Leland, a look of nervous apprehension on her face. Crane quickly averts his eyes and takes the seat next to her, doing his best not to look in her direction.

"This is Teagan James," Leland says, "Your new intern." She smiles, as if he should be excited by the revelation.

Crane cannot mask his shock. "Intern?"

Teagan looks down, her hands wringing in her lap, her glasses sliding down her nose.

Leland looks puzzled. "Yes, Jonathan, your intern," she says, "I remember mentioning you would have one a couple of weeks ago."

As if anything Leland has to say is of any importance to him.

Crane shifts in his chair, clearing his throat. "Of course," he says, his voice flat.

He briefly recalled the staff discussing Arkham's annual apprenticeship program, where a student from Gotham University interns under a member of the psychiatric staff—this year, unfortunately, it seemed to be his turn to "guide".

Leland smiles again, apparently relieved. "Teagan is top of her class at GU. She's set to graduate this year with a bachelor's in psychology."

Tegan's cheeks began redden with embarrassment. On second glance, Crane could see that she was a very pretty girl; pale, with black tendrils of hair framing a small, dainty face, and big doe-like dark eyes enhanced by thickly-framed glasses. She looked like a little porcelain doll, out of place in the cold, sterile environment of the asylum.

But Crane has no time for pretty girls.

"Will that be all, Dr. Le—Joan?"

Leland nods. "Why don't you show Teagan around?"

It takes all of his self control to hide his annoyance. "Of course."

Leland reaches over the desk and extends her hand to Teagan. "Welcome to Arkham Asylum, Teagan" Leland says, smiling gently at her. "I'm sure you will enjoy learning from Dr. Crane, he's one of the best."

Teagan takes her hand and gives it a quick and flimsy shake, her eyes never leaving the floor.

* * *

 

"You can start by organizing those." Crane gestures absentmindedly towards a filing cabinet in the corner of his office, an exasperated look on his face.

Teagan nervously pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "Alphabetically or..."

"Just use your imagination," Crane says sharply. "And don't touch my desk."

Teagan flinches and slowly crosses the room to the filing cabinet, her arms crossed in front of her.

The room is filled with thick, stifling, silence, save for the sound of rustling paper.

"I'm sorry," Teagan says, the sudden noise almost causing Crane to jump.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," she says. "For bothering you. I'll try to stay out of your way."

She returns to the papers, sorting them into manilla folders.

Crane looks at her, glasses askew on her face, her small form slumped over a large pile of patient forms, trying to appear as innocuous as possible.

For a brief second, he sees himself.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Despite her best efforts, Crane finds the prescence of his intern to be, at best, inconvenient.

While Teagan has been content to organize his files and clean his office for the past week, never speaking unless spoken to, Crane wants her gone, far away from his office, where she can't annoy him and he can continue his research in solitude. He finds her awkward and stifling; a tiny, timid girl, meek and silent.

All of those qualities remind him of his own misgivings, and it disgusts him.

Eleven o'clock rolls rolls around and he doesn't look up as Teagan walks through his door, her heels clicking on the floor, signalling her arrival.

"Miss James," he says.

"H-hello, Dr. Crane," she stammers, her voice quiet.

Their greetings complete, the room is silent again, save for the sound of the opening and closing of drawers as Teagan organizes his files for the fifth time.

* * *

 

 

Crane watches, unaffected, as the patient writhes and twists on the cell bed, choking on his screams, his face wet and shiny with his tears.

"HELP ME, HELP ME, HELP MEEEEEEEE!"

Crane sighs and injects the inmate with a dose of his antitoxin, watching as the patient's kicks begin to slow and his screams begin to fade until he is finally still, no longer struggling against the restrains, his chest slowly lowering and rising in slumber.

His fear toxin has been a success. After experiencing its effects first-hand, he began to use it in his experiments, retiring the serum. The patient's eyes would fill with confusion and then dread as the gas permeated the room, the fumes filling their lungs.

He fashioned a gas mask into his burlap one in order to prevent his unfortunate experience from reucurring. He kept it on during the experiments, both for his safety and for effect, no longer allowing the patients to see the face of Dr. Jonathan Crane, but the face of Scarecrow instead.

Leaning against the cell wall, Crane removed the mask. Sweat glistened on his face, his hair matted and damp. He breathed in the cool, damp air of the Arkham basement, running his fingers through his hair.

The expiriments would have to end soon.

He'd exhausted the potential of the inmates. While their reactions were testamant to the effectiveness of his toxin, they were also repetitive, and useless. There was no point in continuing with them with they were no longer of any use to him—and after the death of one patient, he'd had to take extra precautions to remain undetected, which was becoming exceedingly more difficult.

With no new test subjects available, it would be impossible to continue his research.

The mask in his hands, Crane walked down the halls of the Arkham basement, leaving the patient to his dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

Crane doesn't even bother to greet Teagan when she arrives the next day. Taking notice of his agitated demeanor, she does her best to stay out of his way, taking great care to move as quietly as possible.

After several long moments he looks up from his notes to see her sitting on the floor holding a rather large folder, paperwork spread out before her.

She'd worn her hair in a ponytail, black strands cascading down her shoulders, dark against her white, crisp shirt. Her glasses had slid down the brim of her nose and she pushed them back absentmindedly, her eyes moving quickly, taking in the typed words in front of her.

He watched her for a few minutes before clearing his throat. She jumped, startled, letting out a small gasp before straightening and regaining her composure.

"What are you doing?" Crane asked.

"Oh, um," she shifted nervously, clearing her throat, "Well, I noticed some similiarities in your case files, so I was just...grouping them together."

He stared at her, his expression blank.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I'll refile them alphabetically."

"Similiarities?"

"Yes," she said nervously, "But, um, I'll put them back. I really shouldn't have-"

"Let me see," he said, his hand outstretched.

Teagan looked shocked. "You want to see?"

"Please," he said shortly, waving his outstretched hand.

She stood up quickly and handed him the folder. He flipped through it, observing the way she'd painstakingly organized the patients, taking careful note of their symptoms and actions.

He closed the file and laid it on the desk before looking at her.

"Very interesting."

She bit her lip, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "Interesting?"

"Yes, I'm very impressed."

Her expression was a mixture of shock and relief. "Really?"

"Yes, I can see why you were chosen for the internship." Crane cleared his throat. "How old are you, Miss James?"

"I'm 22, sir."

"At the top of your class?"

"Yes, sir."

Crane nodded. "Well, keep up the good work, then," he said, returning to his notes.

Teagan stood there awkwardly for a few seconds before turning and heading back to her corner.

"Miss James."

Teagan stopped mid-stride, turning to face Crane. "Yes, Dr. Crane?"

"I apologize for not instructing you as much as you may have expected when you applied for the internship," Crane said, adjusting his glasses. "As you can see, I'm very busy."

"Oh." Teagan said, clearly uncomfortable. "I understand, Dr. Crane."

"Well, be that as it may," he said, "I would like to make it up to you. How about we have lunch together tomorrow, and we can go over a few of my files?"

"Oh, um, s-sure," she stammered, clearly taken aback at the invitation.

"If you have other plans..."

"Oh, no, no," she said quickly, "Not at all."

"Excellent."

As Teagan busied herself with the files, the blush on her cheeks slowly fading, Crane smiled.

Finding a new test subject was going to be easier than he thought.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Crane purposefully chose an expensive restaurant, knowing it would both impress and intimidate Teagan. Judging by her clothes and her status as a college student, he suspected she had very little money; she proved his assumptions correct as she nervously scanned the menu, likely searching for the cheapest item.

After a few minutes of watching her he clears his throat.

"Have you been here before?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

A faint blush appears briefly on her cheeks. "No," she replies.

Crane gives his best imitation of a small smile. "I'll order for both of us, then," he says.

She nods, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Crane can tell she'd never been to a nice restaurant, and, judging by her constant awkwardness, probably rarely went out to lunch with friends—if she even has any. As he orders their food she sit quietly, sipping her water; it is painfully obvious that she is both uncomfortable and embarrassed at her lack of formality.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Crane clears his throat again.

"As I said earlier, Miss James," he says, "I do apologize for my lack of interaction. I know you are eager to learn and I have been, at best, a distracted teacher."

"Oh," Teagan says, shifting nervously in her seat, "That's alright, Dr. Crane, I understand that you are a very busy man. I don't expect you to make any allowances for me."

Crane struggles against a genuine smile. So timid. So weak. So pathetic.

"I invited you to lunch because I have something I want to show you." He reaches into his briefcase and retrieves a thin manilla folder. "This is a project of mine I have been working on."

He extends his arm towards Teagan, the file in his hand. Her hand shaking, she slowly reaches across the table. Their fingers touch for a brief second, hers soft and smooth against his, and he quickly jerks his hand back before composing himself.

He's setting a trap, and every action, every word, every breath has to be executed perfectly. He has to remain perfectly focused; he has no room for error.

But Teagan has not noticed his brief lapse of control; she is immersed in the file, her eyes quickly moving across the pages, devouring the words. She bites her lip in concentration, and he lets out a small breath.

She really is beautiful; if he were a weaker man...

She looks up at him, her eyes wide behind the frames of her glasses.

"This is incredible, Dr. Crane," she says. She looks excited and enthused, the first real emotion she's ever displayed in front of him. "I've never read anything like this before."

Crane nods. "I'm glad you think so."

Of course, those weren't his _actual_ notes in the file, with all the unpleasant and graphic details; rather, he'd given her a watered down, condensed version, with no mention of test subjects or his actual goal.

"It's amazing the amount of research you've put into this; fear is such a primitive emotion, yet we have such little understanding of it...what did Dr. Leland think of it?" She's actually asking him questions; it's as if she's so absorbed in her enthusiasm, she's forgotten to be nervous.

"I'm afraid she was quite unimpressed," he lies smoothly.

She smiles for the first time in his presence. "Well, that's not surprising," she says, before quickly blushing and tightening her lips, as if she'd just realized what he said.

Despite himself, he lets out a small, low laugh. "Why do you say that?"

"Well," she says, her face still red, "She's...not like you. She's more interested in coddling patients than actual advancement. You.."

Her voice trails off.

He raises his eyebrows. "Yes?"

She takes a deep breath. "You seem to be more interested in the mind and what it can do than placating inmates."

Behind the annoyingly nervous and meek demeanor, she really is a smart girl. Looks _and_ brains; he almost feels bad for what he's going to do to her. Almost.

The waiter arrives with their lunch and they sit in silence, Teagan slowly chewing and keeps her gaze on the floor, perhaps regretful of her outburst.

"Do you have any family, Miss James?" Crane asks, interrupting the silence.

She looks up at him, surprised. "Oh, um, no sir."

"None?"

"No, my father left when I was very young and my mother died a couple of years ago."

"No brothers or sisters?"

She shakes her head. "No, just me."

"I see." He straightens his glasses. "Are you in good health?"

"Yes," she replies, a confused look on her face. "Why do you ask, sir?"

Crane smiles. "Just curious." He leans forward. "Miss James, would you be interested in helping me with my research?"

She looks at him, seeing her reflection in his blue, icy eyes. She feels a strange sensation in her chest and she blinks. "Me?"

"Yes," he says, his gaze never leaving her face. "I believe you are the only one who would appreciate and understand my work. I was quite impressed with your work in my office; I believe you would be of great assistance to me."

He's set the trap; now all she has to do is walk into it.

She nods, smiling. "Yes, of course, Dr. Crane, I would be honored."

Excellent.

He picks up his glass. "To new partnerships."

She raises hers, and their glasses clink together as Teagan seals her fate.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

The halls of Arkham Asylum's abandoned basement are silent, save for the click-clack of Teagan's heels as she struggles to keep pace with Crane's quick strides.

Over the past few weeks she's proven herself to be easy prey; overtly eager to please, and gullible despite her intelligence. Crane has watched her pour through book after book, biting her lower lip in concentration as her eyes devour page after page, stopping only to scribble notes into a thick, over-flowing file. She is convinced she is helping him, unaware of her real purpose.

"Their" research stays between the two of them, of course; as far as the rest of the staff is concerned, she's Crane's errand-girl, and the extent of her involvement is fetching coffee and copies for the doctor.

She thinks it's because no one else will understand.

She has no idea how right she is.

Earlier today, Crane asked her if she'd be willing to stay a few extra hours, telling her that he'd discovered some old equipment in the basement that could be useful in their research, some primitive restraints used to "scare patients sane", and that he'd like to show it to her. Of course, she fell for it, smiling and nodding earnestly, happy that he thought to involve her in his new "discovery".

Her naievity was both convenient and infuriating.

He casts a quick glance in her direction as they turn down the hall into the empty cell block; she is smiling, her excitement apparent.

He stops abruptly; she comes to a halt behind him.

"Here we are," Crane says, gesturing towards a cell. "After you."

Teagan turns and enters the cell, Crane close behind her.

The cell is dark and cramped, containing only a small bed, toilet, and sink. A pile of restraints lie on the bed, yellow and faded from use.

"Back before mental illness was understood, doctors thought they could scare patients into sanity," Crane says, adjusting his glasses. "They would restrain them, and force them to look at constant stream of violent and disturbing images. They thought that by breaking their mind, they could rebuild it."

"That's terrible," Teagan says, "I'm glad that psychology has come such a long way since then."

"Has it?" Crane asks, his voice low.

Teagan smiles uncomfortably. "You don't think so?"

Crane lets out a deep breath, then flashes a smile at her.

"Have you ever been restrained before?"

Teagan lets out a surprised giggle. "What?"

"I asked if you'd ever been restrained before. You can't really understand a patient until you've seen things from their point of view; laying down, fastened to your bed, looking up at everyone."

"Oh," Teagan says, shifting nervously. "No, I haven't."

He looks at her, still smiling. "Why don't you try it?"

She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, no, no thanks."

"Why not?"

"I...I just don't think I'd be..."

Crane's smile falters as he looks at her over his glasses. "Don't you trust me?"

She looks at him, her expression uneasy.

There's no way she can say no without disappointing him, and she knows it.

She's walked into his trap. Now it's time for her to spring it.

"Okay," she says, nodding. "I'll do it."

Crane smiles.

Teagan wipes off the mattress, dust gathering in the air above her, before laying down and straightening her body. Her skirt bunches up and Crane catches a glimpse of her thighs before she pushes it back down, smoothing the fabric. He fastens the restraints at her feet, and she feels a jilt through her body when his fingers graze across her leg.

He tries to keep his hands from shaking as he works on the restraints, his body inches above hers, her breath hot on his skin. Her glasses slide down her face and he removes them, allowing his fingers to linger on her face a few seconds longer than necessary.

"Thanks," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a brief second, he wishes he were weaker.

He straightens, composing himself, and places her glasses in his front pocket before turning away from her.

Teagan looks up at the ceiling, dark and covered in mold. She tries to lift her arms and legs, but to no avail; she can only raise them a few inches before being halted by the restraints. The bind across her chest prevents her from sitting up and she has no choice but to lie there, staring into the dark abyss of the ceiling as her body begins to cramp.

After thirty seconds she's had enough.

"Could you please help me up?"

Silence.

"Dr. Crane?"

She turns her head and is face to face with a burlap mask.

She screams, fighting against the restraints, trying to kick her legs, struggling to get away. The mask moves closer and she screams again and tries to swipe at it, her arm barely moving from the bed.

"Dr. Crane!" she yells, tears streaming down her face. Smoke begins to fill the room and she heaves, choking on her sobs as her eyes begin to burn. Her lungs are on fire and her tongue feels too big for her mouth; she digs her nails into the mattress as she tries to breathe, her throat raw.

The last thing she sees before slipping into darkness is a blue eye staring at her through the mask.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Teagan's eyelids begin to flutter as a dull, throbbing pain in her arm brings her back to consciousness. She brings a hand to her face, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

What a terrible dream. She'd never had one like it before. It had been so incredibly vivid—she could still remember the the tears on her cheeks, her screams, the overwhelming suffocation she'd felt as the gas filled the room.

And the mask.

She let out a small laugh, full of relief. All the research she'd been doing for the past few weeks must really be getting to her. Combined with the stress of school, it was no shock to her that she'd had such a strange, overpowering nightmare.

She opens her eyes fully and stares into the moldy ceiling of the cell.

Before she can scream a hand clamps over her mouth, pressing her into the mattress.

"Don't scream," Crane says. He's right next to her, talking directly into her ear; she can feel his breath on her face. His hand is insistent and rough on her mouth and she nods, her eyes wide.

"If I move my hand, are you going to scream?" Crane asks, his tone strangely calm.

She shakes her head, fighting back tears.

"Good," he says, slowly sliding his fingers down her face, brushing them across her lips. "Why don't you sit up?"

Trying to keep herself from shaking, she slowly raises herself up, her arms trembling and weak underneath her. Crane gently grips her shoulders and lifts her; despite herself, she is surprised by his strength. When he releases her she presses herself against the wall, bringing her knees to her chest, her body tense. The throbbing in her arm is now an ache, and she bites her lip, willing herself not to scream or cry.

Part of her wants to attack him, to scratch at his eyes, to run screaming from the cell to the safety of the first floor, to escape this damp, suffocating, dark basement.

But another part of her keeps her rooted to the spot.

Crane reaches forward, a tissue in his hand, slowly wiping the dried tears and streaks of mascara off her cheeks, brushing her hair behind her ears, his fingers gentle. She sits still under his touch, her breath caught in her throat. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves her glasses, placing them carefully on her face. His fingers linger on her cheek.

"What did you do to me?" she whispers, her voice cracking.

He stands, straightening. "I enlightened you," he said, a small smile on his face.

" _What?_ "

He sighs, his shoulders heaving. "Really, Miss James, I expected better from you."

She stares at him, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Crane removes his glasses, folding them and placing them in his front pocket.

"People live their lives in fear," Crane says, pacing slowly across the cell, "They allow it control them, to limit them, to bind them, to crush them. Everything they do, they do because of fear. Fear of poverty, fear of loneliness, fear of disappointment, fear of illness, fear of death—fear is a constant in every single action."

He stops pacing and turns to look at her. "But you-"

He reaches down and cradles Teagan's face in his hands, staring into her eyes.

"I _showed_ you your fear. You've experienced it, lived it, allowed it to consume you, and now you have nothing to fear, nothing to control you, _nothing_ to weigh you down."

She looks into the the deep blue of his eyes, and remembers falling into water as the smoke cleared and the cell disappeared. She remembers the feel the water against her skin as it swallowed her, its icy waves stabbing and unforgiving as she struggled against them, filling her nose and throat as she choked. She remembers the faceless man watching, unmoved, as she screamed for help, waving her arms wildly as she slowly sank into darkness and into an endless grave.

He watches the tears fall down her face, his eyes hungry.

"Why me?" she sobs, her body shaking.

Crane wipes a tear away with his thumb. "Because you're different, Teagan."

"No, I'm not," she says, choking on her sobs, "I'm nobody special. I'm just a girl who moved to Gotham for college and took an internship. There is absolutely _nothing_ special about me."

Crane bites his lip to keep his laughter from escaping. Even now, she's still as pathetic, still as meek and as timid, still as "aw, shucks" as ever.

So predictable. So boring.

He brings his face close to hers, their lips almost touching.

"You're different than everyone else," he says, his voice low and thick, "Because you're like me."

His lips connect with hers and he tilts her head back, his hands in her hair, on her neck. She kisses him back awkwardly, her inexperience obvious. He trails his lips down her neck and she digs her nails into his jacket, a sigh escaping her parted lips. He pulls back and looks down at her; her glasses are askew, her chest heaving.

He smiles, placing his hand under her chin.

"No one else will ever understand us, Teagan," he says, looking into her flushed, awe-stricken face. "We'll have to _make_ them understand."

She smiles, her eyes sparkling, and nods. He presses his lips to hers, and Teagan James is lost forever.

 


	7. Chapter 7

"Are you ready?" Crane says, looking into her eyes.

Teagan takes a deep breath and grips the sides of the grimy cell mattress, her knuckles white.

It had been one week since her enlightenment, since her awakening, since her rebirth.

One week since their kiss.

"Yes," she says, and closes her eyes.

She winces as the needle pierces her skin.

Something cold and wet hits her face and she jumps, opening her eyes. Her breath catches in her throat and she brings a hand to her mouth, shocked.

She is sitting at the edge of a river; small, angry waves lap at her feet, soaking her shoes. Hard droplets of rain fall from the dark, cloudy sky, pelting her skin. The trees surrounding her wave in the wind, bending and threatening to break.

She tries to stand and looses her footing, slipping on the muddy, soft ground beneath her. Steadying herself, she straightens and takes a step backwards. Her foot slips out of her shoe and she loses her balance, floundering in the air before falling backwards. Her elbow connects with a rock and she screams in pain. Her stomach lurches and she takes deep, steadying breaths, grinding her teeth, trying to concentrate on anything but the sharp and throbbing pain in her arm.

Gingerly, she raises herself to a sitting position and examines her elbow. Although the sleeve of her shirt is bloodied, there are no protruding bones and she can bend her arm; thankful, she breathes a sigh of relief. She reaches over and retrieves her shoe; it leaves the mud with a sickening suction noise.

Her clothes cling to her body, soaked with rain and mud, and her hair whips through the wind, slapping against her face. She crosses her arms and lowers her head, trying to shield herself from the biting cold.

"Teagan!"

She looks up, her eyes wide.

Standing in the middle of the river, on top of the water, is a small dark-haired boy, dry and smiling.

"Hey, Teagan!" he says, his voice high-pitched and clear despite the howling wind. "Look at what I can do!" He giggles and runs around in a circle, his feet splashing against the water, walking as if he were on land.

No. It can't be.

" _Paul_?" she whispers, her voice cracking.

He giggles again, his laughter echoing through the trees, wind chimes against the howling weather.

"You're silly," he says, clapping his chubby hands.

Tears roll down her cheeks. "It can't be you," she says, her voice trembling. "You...you're..."

He smiles widely, showing the gap where his front tooth should be. "I'm what? Dead?"

He giggles again before the water parts and he is swallowed by the river.

"NO!" Teagan screams. She runs toward the river; her heels sink into the mud and she kicks them off. Rocks stab at her feet before she jumps into the water, gasping as the cold waves hit her.

"Paul! Paul!" She tries to swim but struggles against the current, choking and gagging as water fills her nose and mouth.

"Paul, where are you?" She waves her arms, trying to stay afloat. The icy rain pricks at her skin, mixing with her tears.

She feels something wrap around her ankle and screams as the river closes over her head. Water fills her lungs and she kicks, desperate to free herself. Her vision becomes blurred and fuzzy as she waves her arms frantically, filled with panic. Her eyelids become heavy and her kicking begins to slow as the grip on her ankle begins to drag her closer and closer to the bottom of the river.

So this is what it's like to die.

_It's not so bad_ , she thinks. _I can be with Paul..._

She closes her eyes.

"Teagan! Teagan!"

She feels her body jerk back and forth, and opens her eyes.

Crane is standing over her, his hands on her shoulders.

"I apologize for shaking you," he says. "I couldn't get you to wake up."

She sits up, her eyes wide with confusion. She looks down to examine herself; her clothes and hair are dry, both of her shoes are on her feet, and there is no pain in her elbow.

"What..what..."

"I gave you an injection of the serum, remember?" Crane says, pressing his fingers to her wrist, feeling for her pulse. "I just gave you another injection to wake you up."

She swallows, trembling. "It was all so vivid," she says, "The trees, the wind, the water..."

Paul.

Teagan bursts into tears. Her chest begins to heave with sobs as Crane wraps his arms around her, cradling her.

"Shhhhh," he says, running his fingers up and down her back soothingly. "Shhhhh. It's over now."

She buries her face in his shoulder, her tears soaking his jacket. "I-I saw P-Paul," she stammers.

"It's okay, it's okay," he says, stroking her hair. He smiles over her shoulder, pleased with his success.

After a few minutes she begins to calm down; her breathing slows and her sobs subside.

He kisses her cheek, continuing to stroke her hair. "Who is Paul?" he asks quietly.

She sits up, looking into his eyes. A strand of hair falls into her face and he gently pushes it behind her ear, trailing his fingers slowly down her face.

"Paul was my brother," she says softly. A solitary tear falls down her cheek.

He cradles her face in his hands. "What happened?" he asks, his eyes kind and understanding.

His psychiatric training is _really_ coming in handy.

She exhales, biting her lower lip.

"When we were kids, we lived in a house next to a river. Paul and I practically lived in it during the summer. It was like our own private paradise. We used to catch frogs, make mud pies...typical kid stuff."

She swallows, a pained expression on her face.

"One day, we were playing and Paul accidentally wandered out into the deep end of the river. When I saw his head go under..."

She blinks hard, fighting back tears.

"My dad heard my screams and found us. He left me and my mom not long after."

Crane brings her close, wrapping his arms around her again. "I'm so sorry," he says, his voice gentle. "I'm so, so sorry."

A sniffling noise emits from his shoulder and Crane knows she is crying again.

He smiles as he soothes her, feeling a mixture of both pride and victory. She's starting to open herself up to him, exposing her fear and her sadness. No wonder she's been so easy to manipulate, to control; all it took was a shot of his serum and she's putty in his hands.

How typically pathetic of her.

He looks down; she's clinging to his jacket, her face pressed into his chest, her eyes closed. He buries his lips in he hair, breathing in her scent.

Despite himself, sometimes he wishes she were more than just a specimen.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Teagan looks down at the Arkham patient strapped to cell bed before her. He looks up at her blankly, his eyes wet and glazed over. His hair falls messily and unkempt over his shoulders, his face covered in stubble. He doesn't struggle against the restraints, or snarl, or yell. He lies still, unaware of his surroundings and beyond caring.

She wondered if she had looked so vulnerable, so pitiful, when it was she who laid on the bed, thrashing her arms and legs, choking on the fear toxin.

Crane stands behind her, rubbing her shoulders.

"Do you trust me?" he whispers into her ear, caressing her cheek.

She bites her lip, her eyes never leaving the motionless inmate.

"Yes," she says quietly. She swallows, trying to rid herself of the lump in her throat.

She feels Crane press the syringe into her hand, his lips grazing her neck.

"Do it," he says.

She steps forward, determined.

The patient doesn't even move as she plunges the needle into his arm.

Crane smiles with satisfaction.

Teagan steps back as the patient begins to scream. She turns to him, and her face is neither frightened or sad, but smiling.

"We're helping him," she says, handing him the syringe. "We're doing him a favor."

He looks at her, feeling a mixture of both surprise and pleasure. "We are?"

She nods. "He was wasting his life rotting in this asylum, a victim of his own mind." Her smile widens, her eyes sparkling. "But now-"

She casts another glance at the patient, now sobbing and fighting against the restraints. "Now, he's free. Free from his fears, free from his mind. He's completely free. And it's because of us."

He wets his lips with his tongue. "You think what's he's experiencing right now is freedom?"

The patient lets out a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream, his face a mask of anguish and agony.

"Pain is only temporary," she says, her voice flat and unaffected. "Whether it be mental or physical."

Crane grabs her by the arm and in an instant she is pressed up against the wall, his body pinning hers, and he is kissing her, crushing her lips with his, his hand running down her leg.

His lips travel to her throat and she gasps, wrapping her fingers in his hair.

"I can't stop thinking about you, Dr. Crane," she says, breathing heavily. "Everything is so boring and gray and meaningless since you showed me how life should be. It's like I've been asleep my whole life, and now I'm awake."

He tilts her head back, looking into her eyes, the cries of the patient long forgotten.

"School is pointless, this internship is pointless, _life_ is pointless without you," she says, her voice shaking. "Every time I sit next to someone in class, cross them on the street, speak to them, I can't help but think about how simple they are, how utterly empty and ignorant they are. They'll never understand me and they'll never want to. I hate them. I hate them and I love you."

She stops, unsure of how he will react to her declaration.

He looks at her for a few long, agonizing seconds, studying her, before bringing a finger to her lips, tracing her cupid's bow with his fingertip.

"Come home with me," he says finally.

She can hear her heartbeat, feel it beating, threatening to burst out of her chest.

Part of him wants to hate her. Part of him wants to be disgusted with her, to despise her, to begrudge her very existence. He is repulsed with her flaws and loathes her neediness and her awkwardness.

But another part of him wants her. She is changing before his eyes, becoming everything he's ever wanted, everything he could never have. She wants so badly to impress him, to be with him, that she's changed everything about herself down to her very core. She wants him just as much as he wants her, wants him so much that everyone else sickens her.

She's turned herself into him just to gain his approval. And now she stands before him, lips parted, hair disheveled, and despite himself he's asked her to come home with him, to spend the night with him.

He's never asked any woman to come to his home before. He's never shared that part of himself.

She closes her lips around his finger, gently sucking. He feels a warm sensation in his stomach, creeping through his lower body. He slowly slips his finger out of her mouth, holding his breath.

"Will you?" he asks, his voice quiet.

She looks into his eyes, swimming in their icy blue.

"Yes," she whispers.

As the patient's screams echo through the basement halls, Crane pulls her close and she surrenders herself to him once again.


	9. Chapter 9

They stand in silence in the elevator, watching as the glowing red numbers slowly count down. 9..10..11...

They reach the twelfth floor and the elevator doors slowly open, revealing a long, carpeted hallway. Crane steps out and Teagan follows, biting her lower lip.

The hallway is brightly lit, the walls painted a pale, creamy color. The carpet is plush beneath her feet and she feels self conscious, as if every tenant is staring at her through the peep hole of their doors, judging her.

Crane stops in front of a door and reaches into his pocket, retrieving his keys. He unlocks the door and opens it; he looks at her and gestures towards the open door.

"After you," he says.

She step forward into the apartment; he flicks on the light switch behind her, illuminating the room.

Bookshelf after bookshelf lines the living room walls; a closer inspection realizes that the books are not only organized by color, but alphabetized. A sofa sits in the middle of the room, in front of a small table covered in loose papers and files; there is no television. The living room leads into a small kitchen, the silver appliances shining and clean, as if never used.

"May I?" he says behind her. He places his hands on her arms, slipping her jacket down her shoulders. She feels a jolt through her body as he removes her arms from the jacket, placing it on the coat rack next to the door.

"Your apartment is very nice," she says, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She's incredibly nervous and desperate to keep it from showing.

"Thank you," he says, giving her a small smile. She smiles back, unsure of what to do. He clears his throat.

"There's a bathroom down the hall," he said, pointing towards the small hallway to their left. "If you should need it."

"Thank you," she says, turning to walk down the hallway, her heels clicking on the wooden floor.

When he hears the bathroom door close behind her he exhales, removing his glasses. He removes his own coat, and loosens his tie, heading towards his bedroom.

His bedroom is mostly empty, save for his bed and a bedside table, along with a small desk. He places his briefcase gently on the smooth mahogany surface of the desk before turning to the bed.

After tonight, things between the two of them will never be the same.

Although the weaker, more "human" side of him wants Teagan, wants her so badly that he almost cannot stand it, the stronger, self-serving, more rational side of him knows that tonight is the next step in transforming her, in controlling her.

He slips off his tie, rolling up his sleeves. He slips out of his shoes and sits on the bed, quietly clearing his throat.

He's been with women before, both to satisfy his curiosity and to appear "normal" to his peers and coworkers; he felt no emotion towards them, no attachment, and had absolutely no interest in pursuing long term relationships with them.

But he has never been with anyone like Teagan.

The bathroom door opens and she walks into the room. His breath catches in his throat when he sees her.

She stands before him, wearing only her undergarments. The black, lacy fabric of her bra and panties contrasts against her pale, creamy skin. Sheer, tan stockings adorn her legs, stopping at her thighs. Her hair falls around her shoulders and she has removed her glasses; for the first time, he notices her eyes, notices how dark and sparkling they are. She looks at him and smiles, trembling slightly.

"Come here," he says, extending his arm towards her. She slips her hand into his and he pulls her towards him, wrapping his arms around her waist.

He begins to plant soft, tiny kisses on her stomach, his hands trailing down her lower back, moving slowly.

She shudders, parting her lips.

"I...I..." she says, her voice shaking.

He looks up at her, continuing his gentle assault on her stomach.

"I haven't done this very many times," she says quietly, biting her lower lip.

He smiles, laughing softly into her stomach. "That's fine," he says. "I have."

He moves his hands up and down her thighs, cupping her bottom in his hands. She gasps, wrapping her fingers in his hair, closing her eyes.

Her skin is so soft, so smooth, so sweet under his lips.

"Jonathan," she says breathlessly.

He pulls her to him on the bed, rolling his body on top of hers. He kisses her roughly, aggressively, grabbing at every inch of her with his hands. She melts under his touch, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Her hands fumble at his shirt, trying to loosen the buttons. He grabs her wrists and pulls them above her, pinning them to the bed. She is helpless under him, her eyes wide, her hair tousled.

He licks his lips, tasting her lipstick. He looks into her eyes, full of trust and admiration.

"I love you," she whispers.

He smiles.

"I know," he says.

He reaches over to turn off the light as she continues to tear at his shirt.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Crane watches her as her chest slowly rises and falls with every breath, her dark hair spread over his pillows, contrasting with the stark white of the fabric. She is asleep in his bed, her body wrapped in his comforter, nude under the blanket.

Last night he had been in total control, said what she wanted to hear, even if it wasn't true. For one, he'd lied about his previous ventures; although he'd been with women on a few occasions before, he was far from "experienced". His previous encounters were meaningless—he'd never really been intrigued with sex or found it compelling. He'd always considered it an animalistic urge, much like the need to eat or sleep—a physical craving.

But last night had been different.

Being with Teagan had felt... _right_.

He hates that side of himself, the "human" side. The side that craves for compassion, for intimacy. He is disgusted with himself for allowing, for _enjoying_ last night's endeavor.

And yet...

She'd felt so good against him, her lips on his, her fingers in his hair. He had wanted her; he _still_ wants her.

No. Jonathan Crane wants her.

Scarecrow despises her.

He clears his throat loudly. She stirs and her eyelids flutter before opening completely.

"Good morning," he says flatly.

She sits up quickly, covering her chest with the comforter. "Good morning," she replies. She looks at him, noticing that he's already dressed, wearing a dark gray suit, a white dress shirt underneath. "Oh, wow, how late did I sleep?" She glances at his bedside clock; the floating red numbers read 7:00 A.M.

She reaches for her underwear, laying in a pile of lace on the floor. "I've got to get going—I'll be late for class."

"Would you like for me to drive you to the university?"

"Oh." She smiles nervously, pushing her hair behind her ear. "No, thank you, that's okay. I'll take the subway back to my apartment then head to school from there."

"I can take you to your apartment."

She reaches behind her back, clasping her bra. "I don't want to inconvenience you," she says, avoiding his glance. "I don't live in the... _greatest_ part of town, anyway." Her face reddens and she walks to his bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Ah. He understands now. She's embarrassed of where she lives. How typical of her. She's so obsessed with impressing him that she doesn't even want him to know that she lives in a less-than-glamorous apartment, likely with roommates. As if he'd expected anything else from an undergraduate living off of student loans.

The bathroom door opens and she walks out, buttoning up her shirt. He helps her slip into her jacket, lifting her hair up. She turns to face him, smiling awkwardly.

"Well..." She shifts nervously, unsure of what to say.

"I'll see you at the Asylum later," he says, forcing a smile. He opens the door for her.

"Right." She nods. "Well...bye." She gives him a final smile before turning to walk down the hall.

He waits until her hears the elevator doors open before he closes his apartment door. He leans against it, exhaling deeply.

He doesn't care for her, at least not in the traditional sense. His work is of the utmost importance and he won't allow anyone to interfere with that, much less _her_.

But he can't deny that she's gotten under his skin.

He returns to his bedroom, reaching for his briefcase. He fumbles with the clasps and the case springs open, revealing Scarecrow's burlap mask, laying on top of a pile of papers.

He holds the mask in his hands, running his fingers over the burlap, feeling it coming alive under his hands, the coarse texture rough against his smooth skin. He places the mask on his head, tightening the rope around his neck.

He walks over to the bed, running his hands over the side that she had slept on. He sits down and lifts the sheet to his face, sniffing, inhaling her scent through the mask's mouth opening. He closes his eyes, reliving the previous night.

The last time Teagan met Scarecrow, she'd been a screaming, frightened mess, strapped to a musty cell bed. If she's so infatuated with Dr. Jonathan Crane, then she's going to have to learn to embrace Scarecrow as well, whether she wants to or not.

He smiles, clenching the sheet in his fist.

 


	11. Chapter 11

"Jonathan?" Teagan calls out, her voice echoing through the asylum's dark basement.

She is met with silence.

The yellow glow of her flashlight begins to flicker. "Dammit!" She smacks the flashlight against her palm, hoping the battery lasts just long enough until she can find Crane.

He'd been so distant since the night they'd shared at his apartment; that was over a week ago, and since then he'd barely spoken to her, only acknowledging her presence when necessary. He wasn't cruel to her, just... _cold_. She'd wondered if she had done something to offend him—he'd acted so strange when she'd left the next morning, as if he had been eager for her to leave.

The bulb begins to flicker again and she sighs, biting her lower lip. They had not spoken about that night; he had not mentioned it and due to his demeanor she was hesitant to bring it up. It was as if nothing between them had changed, as if it that night—and her—meant nothing to him.

Sometimes she wondered if it had ever even happened, if it hadn't been some wonderful, glorious dream.

"Jonathan?" she calls out again. Still no response.

She reaches into her jacket pocket and retrieves her phone; as she flips it open the hallway is illuminated by the blue, soft light of the screen. She opens her messages and reads the most recent one from Crane:

_Meet me in the basement. Wait for Leland to leave._

She'd waited in his office, busying herself by reading through his files for what felt like the hundredth time, until she heard Dr. Leland's door open and close, the click as she turned her key in the lock, the repetitive chorus of her heels as she walked down the hall. She'd then made her way down to the basement, carrying only a flashlight she'd found in Crane's desk.

She had never been to the basement by herself before; she'd always accompanied Crane, following his lead. The halls are unfamiliar and difficult to navigate—she's been wandering around for nearly thirty minutes, growing more and more nervous, her only comfort the slowly-fading bulb of the flashlight.

She leans against the wall, fighting back tears. She'd tried to call Crane several times, each time receiving only his voicemail. Sniffling, she dials his number again, her hands shaking.

She jumps when she hears the faint sound of a phone ringing.

"Jonathan!" she yells, shining the flashlight down a hallway. She steps forward, trying to keep herself from shaking.

She feels something warm and furry run over her foot and she screams, dropping the flashlight. She hears it shatter on the floor, sending her into darkness.

"Shit!" she mutters under her breath. She opens her phone, using its faint glow as a guiding light.

"Jonathan, where are you?" she yells again, an edge of panic in her voice. Her phone casts a blue light on the moldy basement walls, giving them a sinister appearance. She walks slowly, afraid of tripping over an unseen object.

"Jonathan, please-"

A hand clamps over her mouth, pushing her against the wall. She screams into the hand, her voice muffled, and claws at the air in front of her, trying to free herself. She feels a grip on her throat and gasps, kicking her legs.

She hears a faint click and is blinded by the glow of a flashlight.

"Jonathan! Help me!" she screams, the hand still clamped firmly over her mouth.

The light moves from her face to the one in front of her, the burlap illuminated by the yellow glow.

"Not Jonathan. Scarecrow." Crane says, his voice low.

Teagan stops struggling, lowering her hands.

"J—Jonathan?"

The grip on her throat tightens.

" _No_ , Scarecrow."

Her eyes begin to water in pain. "Stop, please," she chokes, "You're hurting me."

Crane releases her and she gasps, bringing her hands to her aching throat.

He steps back, still holding the light to his face.

She swallows, staring at the torn, ragged burlap mask. She slowly reaches forward, her hand shaking.

In a flash he has grabbed her wrist, squeezing it.

"Please," she whispers.

He pauses a few seconds before releasing his hold on her, bringing his hand down to his side.

She gently runs her fingers over the rough burlap, lingering on the stitched mouth. She looks into the eyeholes and sees his icy blue eyes staring at her, examining her reactions.

"What do you see?" he asks, looking into her eyes.

She smiles. "You," she says, stepping forward.

He wraps his arms around her and she presses her lips to the mouth of the mask, the thick thread digging into her lips. The burlap rubs against her face as he presses her into the wall, running his hands down her body.

"I love you," she breathes.

He smiles under the mask. "I know."

She doesn't make a sound as the needle pierces her skin, and as she feels the madness take over again she digs her fingernails into his jacket, accepting and completely surrendering to Scarecrow.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Teagan stands in front of Dr. Joan Leland's office door, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. A bead of sweat trickles slowly down her face; she wipes it away with her sleeve, the fabric cool against her cheek.

_There's no way she can know_ , she thinks to herself. _Just stay calm_.

She takes a deep breath, composing herself before gently rapping her knuckles against the richly-colored wood.

"Come in," Leland says.

Teagan does not detect any sign of displeasure in her tone and she breathes a sigh of relief as she reaches down to turn the doorknob, her hand slippery against the metal. She opens the door to see Leland wearing her trademark smile, gesturing towards the chair in front of her desk.

"Please, sit down," she says, her voice as warm as usual.

On her first day at Arkham, Teagan had found Leland to be kind, her reassurance a source of comfort in a cold, foreign environment.

Now she finds her nauseating.

She sits down, crossing her legs in front of her, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"So, how is your internship going?" she asks, taking a sip from a coffee mug emblazoned with a large, yellow smiling face.

Teagan clears her throat. "Very well," she says, straightening her glasses.

"Have you learned a lot from Dr. Crane?"

She pauses, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. _If only you knew._

"Yes," she says, unable to hold back a smile.

Leland beams, a wide grin on her face. "That's great," she says, "I'm very happy to hear that. Dr. Crane is one of the most brilliant psychiatrists I've ever had the pleasure of working with, and I'm sure that interning alongside him will prove invaluable to you while working towards your degree."

Teagan bites her lower lip, stifling a giggle. She hasn't attended a single class in weeks.

"I'm sure," she says, nodding slowly.

Leland reaches for her coffee. "You've been a wonderful intern, Miss James. I've enjoyed your time here and we will all certainly be sad to see you go."

Teagan's heart skips a beat.

"I'm sorry?"

Leland's eyes are confused behind the brim of the mug. "Your internship. It ends today, remember?"

Teagan's breath catches in her throat.

Between their research and experiments, she'd lost track of time. Every glorious moment she spent with Crane had blurred together; time was irrelevant to her, a meaningless concept, when she was with Jonathan. She hadn't thought about her internship or it's longevity—it was so trivial compared to what they were doing.

Tears fill her eyes and Leland becomes a blur.

"Miss James?" she says, alarmed. "All you allright?"

Teagan manages to choke out a raspy "I'm fine" before standing up and walking quickly out the door, her hands tight fists in her pockets.

No more seeing Jonathan for hours at a time. No more late night research sessions in his office. No more experiments in the basement, no more secrets to keep from the others, no more lips against hers as a patient screams in agony.

Teagan fumbles with the doorknob to Jonathan's office, her vision obscured by her tears. The door opens and as it shuts behind her she flies into his arms, sobbing into his jacket.

Crane looks down at her, his face blank.

He's known her internship would be ending, although he had not mentioned it to her.

Now he could easily wash his hands of her. Now he could watch as she walked out the asylum door for the last time, forever changed by him. Now he could be rid of her.

Now he could never see her again.

If that was what he wanted.

He rubs her back soothingly. "Shhhhhhhh," he whispers, burying his face in her hair.

"I won't get to see you everyday now," she whimpers into his chest, fresh tears spilling out of her eyes.

He gently places his fingers under her chin, lifting her head.

"Of course you will," he says, smiling.

Her eyes widen.

No one would believe her if she told them what really went on in his office. No one would believe such a fantastic story, that Dr. Jonathan Crane of all people was secretly experimenting on patients and developing a dangerous toxin—no, he'd made sure of that. He'd always covered his tracks, always presented himself as a normal, albeit shy, member of society and a highly-esteemed and caring psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum. He'd always been _so_ careful.

He could leave her now, with no consequences. Leave her and never look back.

But that wasn't what he wanted.

"I love you," she whispers.

He smiles.

"I know."

 


	13. Chapter 13

Crane stands still in his bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. He gazes at his reflection, clad in a white terry-cloth bathrobe, his figure slender and lithe. He raises a hand to his face, slowly running his fingers over his cheekbones, his nose, his lips, before brushing up against the cold, hard plastic of his glasses. He looks into his own eyes, icy blue behind the lenses.

While he is aware that he is conventionally "attractive", he does not hold aesthetics in high esteem. While he can admire and at times even enjoy a woman's beauty, he considers looks secondary to personal attributes; although he finds Teagan beautiful, he'd been entirely drawn to something else about her.

Teagan.

He sighs and removes his glasses, placing them gently on the bathroom counter before slipping out of his robe and stepping into the shower.

His body relaxes as beads of water pelt his skin, trailing down his body and trickling onto the shower floor. He exhales, running his fingers through his hair, kneading his scalp with his fingers. He closes his eyes, allowing himself the brief luxury of a hot shower.

He'd been aware of the impending end of Teagan's internship for quite some time. Although he was sure she had been too enamored with him along with "their" research to even think about her internship, considering it was little more than a facade, he had not mentioned it to her; he had feared that it would distract her and halt his progress.

She's been incredibly useful to him; he had never imagined that she would become such a beneficial subject. She has risen above and beyond his expectations, reacting to both him and his toxin in ways he had never considered or thought possible. She no longer grimaces when she sees the needle, or struggles against her illusions. She accepts them with a small smile, as if they are welcome.

She's even accepted Scarecrow.

She loves every human and monstrous thing about him; she embraces him, her perception clouded by a thin veil of disillusionment.

He squeezes a small amount of body wash onto a loofah, rubbing the lathered sponge over his body.

Her reaction to Scarecrow had confounded him. He'd always considered her attraction to be towards his weaker, more human side; the side that everyone else saw. He'd never dreamed that she'd be equally enraptured with his true self.

When she had placed her lips to the mask, for the first time in his life he had felt truly, completely accepted.

He had been both disgusted and frightened by the revelation.

He bites his lower lip and rinses himself, the soap gathering in white, bubbly pools at his feet.

She's become more than a test subject to him. Although he loathes to admit it, he feels something towards her that he cannot place.

Something he has never felt before and that he thought he would never feel.

A coppery taste fill his mouth and he brings a finger to his lip, wiping away the blood.

He steps out of the shower, drying himself off in the steam-filled bathroom. He walks into his bedroom and dresses himself, selecting a button-up shirt and slacks instead of his usual suit and tie. He wipes the steam from his glasses and places them on his face before running a hand through his still-damp hair.

He walks across the room to his desk, his sock-clad feet cold on the wood floor. His briefcase lies on top the smooth surface of the desk and he reaches for it, fumbling with the latches. It springs open, exposing his mask and assorted paperwork. He reaches into a pocket and retrieves a small, golden key; he closes the briefcase with a resounding snap before placing the key into a lock on the bottom drawer of the desk.

He hears the affirmative click of the lock and pulls the drawer open. Inside is a thick manilla folder, bursting with crisp, white pages. He retrieves the folder, opening it and carefully flipping through the pages, slowly digesting every word. His finger caresses the file's thin, white label, the black font stark against the cream color of the folder.

_James, Teagan._

He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, releasing a quiet exhale.

A knock on the door echoes throughout the apartment and he quickly closes the folder, placing it back in the drawer unceremoniously before slamming it shut. He clears his throat and walks briskly towards the door, adjusting his shirt collar.

He opens the door to find Teagan standing in front of him, carrying a large battered suitcase.

"Is that all?" he asks, gesturing towards the suitcase, it's floral pattern garish and and misplaced. It looks older than him.

She nods, a slight blush creeping over her cheeks. "I don't have that much stuff," she says, embarrassment in her voice.

He reaches over and takes the suitcase, holding the door open for her. She steps through the doorway into the apartment, removing her coat.

He walks into the bedroom, placing her suitcase on the floor next to his desk. He turns around to see her standing behind him, unsure of what to do.

A few silent seconds pass before she mutters a quiet "thank you".

He nods and opens the closet door, revealing a neatly organized closet, save for a small, empty section on the clothes rack.

"I made some room for you to hang your things up," he says, "I'm sorry there's not much space."

"Oh, no", she says quickly, "It's perfect. Thank you so much."

He nods again, placing his hands in his pockets, his palms sweaty.

A few more awkward seconds pass she speaks again.

"If you're not comfortable with this..."

He steps forward, his body inches from hers.

"I want this," he says, looking down at her.

She smiles, her eyes sparkling.

He reaches forward, gently stroking her cheek with his fingers.

So naïve. So helpless. And she's completely his.

Yes, she's definitely gotten under his skin.

But that doesn't mean he has to like it.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Teagan's eyes light up as she hears the doorknob turn, signaling Crane's arrival.

Although she busies herself during the time that he is at work—cleaning the apartment, running errands, even learning how to cook (that was, admittedly, still a work in progress)-she misses him while he is gone. Sometimes she finds herself walking into the closet and smelling his clothes, inhaling his scent, tears of happiness spilling down her cheeks.

She doesn't miss her internship, or the university—that life is gone, a meaningless shell of an existence. She is incredibly happy in her new life, so happy that she's afraid that one day she's going to wake up and it will all have been a wonderful dream.

For the first time in her life, she feels truly and completely loved.

The door opens and she turns, smiling as Crane walks through the door.

"Jonathan-"

Her words are muffled by his lips on hers. He kisses her, his mouth insistent, parting her lips with his tongue, sucking on her bottom lip.

She jumps, startled and confused, before closing her eyes and leaning into him. Crane's hands travel to her bottom, squeezing it roughly and she squeals, both in pain and excitement.

Today at "work" had been infuriating, to say the least. There had been an incident with one of his patients—they'd manage to sneak a knife from the kitchen and had cut their wrists in their cell—and he'd been drowning in paperwork all day. Leland had insisted on helping, and he'd had to deal with not only the tedious paperwork concerning a patient he not only barely knew but cared nothing about, but he'd also had to endure Leland's sickly-sweet voice and forced conversation—as if he actually _wanted_ to talk to her, actually cared what she had to say.

His head was pounding, he was annoyed and angry, and he just wanted a _release_.

He grabs a handful of her hair and tilts her head back; she winces in pain before smiling as his lips trail down her neck, traveling to the space between her breasts.

"How was work?" she asks, her voice shaking with excitement.

He looks up at her sharply before returning his lips to hers, crushing her with his mouth.

She gasps as he lifts her up, his strength surprising her. He carries her to the bedroom and drop her onto the bed, her body bouncing on the mattress. She kicks off her shoes as he swiftly removes his coat, smirking as he lowers his body onto hers.

She fumbles at his tie as he tugs at her jeans, loosening her belt. The fabric slides down her legs and his hands explore her bare skin, moving quickly and roughly over her body.

_I missed you_ , she wants to say.

_I'm glad you're home._

_I love you._

But instead she allows his lips to devour her, his skin on hers, and she closes her eyes, intoxicated with the moment.

* * *

 

They lay still next to each other, their bodies wrapped in his white sheets, her head resting on his chest, her hair strewn across him.

Crane looks at the ceiling, his icy blue eyes full of thoughts and concentration.

Teagan smiles, lifting a hand to his face, curling a strand of his hair around her finger.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispers, enraptured in his expression.

He turns to look at her.

"I have something to show you," he says, his voice flat.

She blinks, surprised. "Oh," she says, her smile returning. "What is it?"

He rises from the bed and steps into his pants, pulling up the black fabric. She sighs under her breath—she was hoping the surprise would require less clothes. He crosses the room to his desk and her eyes follow him, studying the way his body moves as he bends down to open a drawer, intrigued by his lithe, slender form. He turns and she sees a slim manilla folder in his hands, his face blank.

She bites her lower lip, confused. "What's that?"

He says nothing, placing the file on the bed in front of her. He sits down, his eyes never leaving hers.

She pushes her hair behind her ears and reaches for the folder, her smile slowly fading. She opens it, her eyes scanning its contents, absorbing every word, every image.

After a few minutes she looks up at him, her eyes wet.

"I don't understand," she whispers.

He exhales. "I've been working on my fear project for quite some time, but something has always been lacking in my research. I had never been able to find the perfect test subject, the perfect specimen for my experiments."

He pauses. "Until I met you."

Tears slide down her face as she begins to comprehend what he's saying, the pieces falling into place.

"I needed someone new, someone with no prior history of mental disorders or crime, with health problems, no family or friends. I needed someone I could impress, someone who would trust me, someone who I could test my toxin on repeatedly.

You were perfect."

She wets her lips, hurt in her eyes.

"I'm your test subject," she says, letting out a small laugh. "I knew it. I knew this was too good to be true. I knew there was no way someone like you could ever possibly be interested in someone like me."

She brings her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself.

He reaches over and strokes her face; fresh tears slide down her face and she wraps her hand around his, struggling to suppress a sob.

"But you're surprised me, Teagan. You're not like everyone else. Instead of being frightened by my work, you've embraced it entirely. You see the truth about people. You see how disgusting, how repulsive, how loathsome they are. You're not like them, Teagan. You're different. You're _better_. You've seen every side of me and you accept it, you want it."

A strand of hair falls in her face and he gently brushes it behind her ear.

"You're just like me, Teagan. Help me. Help me enlighten Gotham. Help me rid it of these parasites, of these leeches. Stand by my side and watch as Gotham falls to their knees in front of us, bowing at our feet."

She swallows.

"Do you really mean that, Jonathan?" she asks, her voice shaking.

He nods.

"Gotham is a city of ants," he says, stroking her face gently, "And we are their gods."

Teagan wipes her eyes, brushing away tears. "This isn't just another test?"

He smiles. "No. No more tests."

She reaches for his hand and laces her fingers through his, planting a kiss on his wrist.

"I trust you," she whispers, a smile on her face.

He leans forward, his lips hovering above hers.

"I love you," she breathes, her lips parted, anticipating his touch.

"I know," he says, pressing her lips to hers.

She melts into his arms, her body shaking against his, her hands exploring his body.

He has won.

She is his.


	15. Chapter 15

Dr. Joan Leland looks up from her paperwork when she hears the knock on her office door. She gathers her papers, stacking them into a neat pile before clearing her throat and smoothing her heavily-pressed shirt.

"Come in!"

The door opens and Leland smiles as Teagan James steps into her office. "Miss James! What a pleasant surprise!"

The visit is not the only thing surprising to Leland. The normally nervous and apprehensive girl that sat in her office with her sweaty hands clasped tightly in her lap is now smiling, her face positively glowing with happiness. She stands straight, no longer hunched over with shyness, a look of quiet confidence on her face.

Teagan closes the door behind her, flashing a smile at Leland. "Hello, Dr. Leland. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"No, no," Leland says, gesturing towards the chair in front of her desk, "I just decided to stay after hours today and finish up some paperwork. Please, sit down."

Teagan crosses the room and lowers herself into the seat, placing her purse in her lap. She leans back in the chair, relaxed, crossing her legs in front of her.

"How are things?" Leland asks, smiling warmly. Her eyes twinkle kindly as she looks at Teagan, studying her; besides the new smile and apparent sense of confidence, there's something else different about her, something she can't quite put her finger on...

"Great," Teagan replies. "I'm doing very well."

"I can tell," Leland says, laughing softly.

Teagan smirks, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the desk. "Really? How is that?"

Leland reaches forward and rests her hand on top of hers; Teagan recoils inwardly and swallows, struggling to keep the grin on her face.

"The last time you were in my office, you were sobbing. Now here you are, smiling and practically radiating happiness." She squeezes Teagan's hand, beaming.

Teagan swallows again, bile rising in her throat. She clears her throat and removes her hand from Joan's, reflexively wiping it on her jeans.

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about, Dr. Leland. I wanted to apologize for my behavior." She reaches up and adjusts her glasses, weighing Joan's reaction. "I'd had quite a stressful day and let my emotions get the better of me. My internship here was a wonderful experience and I hope that you can forgive me for my actions, and that the incident will not cloud your judgment of me."

Leland smiles, a look of reassurance on her face. "I understand, Miss James. Everyone has a bad day." Her eyes crinkle, her expression kind. "You were an excellent intern; Dr. Crane had nothing but favorable things to say about you."

Teagan bites her lower lip, suppressing a giggle. "Did he?"

"Oh yes. He said you were highly intelligent, a great help, and a very quick learner."

She raises her eyebrows, nodding. "How nice of him," she says, unable to resist smiling.

"Yes, that is very high praise coming from Dr. Crane. He's one of the best psychiatrists I've ever worked with, and between you and me," Leland says, leaning forward. "One of the better looking ones as well." She winks.

Teagan's smile fades. The grip on her purse tightens as she clenches her fists, anger coursing through her body. How dare she talk about Jonathan like that. How dare she talk about _him_ as if he were someone she could obtain, as if he would have anything to do with a loathsome peon like her.

She clears her throat, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She lets out a silent exhale, trying to calm herself. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

She looks at Leland and forces another smile. "That's not the only reason I came here, though." She opens her purse and reaches in, retrieving a small, rectangular package, wrapped in silver gift paper, tied neatly with a white ribbon. She places the package on the desk in front of her and pushes it towards Joan with her finger.

"This is for you."

Leland's eyes light up with surprise. "What ever did you get me a gift for, Miss James?"

Teagan smiles. "You were such a great help to me during my internship. I just wanted to give you a token of my appreciation."

Leland reaches for the gift, a grin on her face. Teagan watches as she gently unwraps it, untying the ribbon and carefully removing the silver paper, revealing a smooth, white box. Teagan wets her lips as Leland slowly opens the box.

"Oh, Teagan," Leland whispers. "It's beautiful."

The box contains a sleek, black, fountain pen, lined with gold trim. Engraved on the side in a small, shining font are the words _To Joan, With Thanks_.

Leland looks up at Teagan, her eyes shining. "Thank you so much, Teagan."

"You're very welcome," Teagan says. "It's exactly what you deserve."

"I'm going to try it out right now," Leland says, reaching for a blank piece of paper.

Teagan nods. "Good idea."

Leland picks up the pen and writes her name, the ink flowing from the tip seamlessly, stark black against the white of the paper.

"Do you like it, Dr. Leland?"

Teagan looks up to see Leland sitting up straight in her chair, her body stiff, her eyes wide. The pen falls from between her fingers and rolls to the end of the desk; in a flash, Teagan has grabbed it with a handkerchief and returned it to its box, slipping it back into her purse.

"Something wrong, Joan?" Teagan asks, mock concern in her voice.

Leland says nothing, silently staring ahead with a look of pure horror on her face.

Teagan rises from the chair, sliding the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. "You know, it was actually _my_ idea for Jonathan to develop a liquid toxin that could be absorbed through pores," she says, cocking her head to the side. "I must admit, I think it was a pretty good idea, wouldn't you say, Dr. Leland?"

She sighs. "Oh, that's right, you're probably not listening to me. You're too busy living your worst nightmare." She smiles. "Don't worry, you won't remember any of it. Jonathan tweaked this batch especially for you. Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

She turns and crosses the room. She pauses, her hand on the doorknob. She looks back at Leland, mouthing wordlessly, her fingernails digging into the surface of her desk.

"Nice visiting you," she says, flashing her a final smile before opening the door and exiting her office.

She hums as she walks down the hall, savoring the sound of Leland's screams. Crane is already in the surveillance room, destroying the camera footage. She blushes as she envisions how proud of her he must be, smiling as he watches her leave the office, satisfied that Leland is suffering at the hands of his toxin.

She walks through the front doors of the asylum, breathing in the cool night air, and waits for Crane to join her.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Teagan sits on the floor of the apartment's kitchen, humming quietly as she carefully traces the outline of a grin on a large, round pumpkin. Crane stands over her, watching as she slowly drags the marker over the pumpkin's smooth surface, the black lines bold against its deep orange.

It is Halloween night in Gotham, and they know _exactly_ how to celebrate.

She leans back and admires her work, a small smile on her lips. She places her hands on the pumpkin and slowly turns it around until Crane can see the drawn face. She looks up at him, eyes bright and full of eagerness. "What do you think?"

Crane glances at the pumpkin's grotesquely wide smile and crooked, triangular eyes and nods, stifling an annoyed sigh. Leave it to her focus on a small detail and not the overall scheme. It doesn't matter in the least what the Jack-O-Lantern looks like; what it will contain is much more important and interesting than the size of its grin or the shape of its eyes. But he'll let her have her fun—he wants her focused and ready for the night, and if it means having to watch her tediously carve this pumpkin while glancing up at him every few seconds for approval, it's a small sacrifice to make.

Beaming at his small gesture of approval, she smiles and turns the pumpkin to face her. She picks up a small, sharp knife and slices into the orange skin, creating a circular incision around its stem. Placing the knife on the floor, she wraps her fingers around the stem and lifts; with a slight suction the circle separates from the rest of the pumpkin, creating a faint _pop_.

She reaches inside the pumpkin and grimaces as she feels its pulpy innards. She begins to scoop them out, the seeds making a light rattling noise as they rain into the trashcan. When she is finished she wipes her hands on the _Gotham Times_ lining the floor, leaving a smeared trail on the black and white print.

Crane leans against the wall, quietly exhaling. He hopes she's prepared what tonight will bring. He knows she'll do anything he tells her, anything at all, and her run-in with Leland has shown him that not only is she willing to get her hands dirty, but that she enjoys inflicting fear on those she feels deserve it. She'd contributed to the planning process, and had even been helpful—and although it sickened him that he hadn't thought of it first, he had to admit that the idea of developing a toxin that could be absorbed through the pores was ingenious.

But he can't help but wonder if the timid, awkward girl he met at Arkham is going to be capable of executing this meticulously designed plan.

He exhales again, louder this time, and she looks up at him, her eyes wide.

"Are you alright?" she asks, frantic concern in her voice.

He grits his teeth and nods. "Yes. Continue."

She nods quickly and returns to the pumpkin. She slowly trails across the eye outlines with the knife, squinting with concentration. With two quick jabs she removes the eyes, leaving behind two triangular holes, jagged and off-center.

She begins to work on the mouth tracing across the smiling corners and the angular teeth. Another few jabs and the pumpkin is wearing a gaping, toothed grin, spiked and uneven.

She looks up at him, her expression earnest and unsure. "Do you like it?"

He looks at the Jack-O-Lantern, heavily-toothed and crooked, and forces a small smile. "Almost perfect," he says.

Her face falls. "Almost?" she asks, her voice shaking.

Crane lowers himself onto the floor next to her and reaches into his pocket, retrieving a small capsule. He holds it up to the light and smirks, his eyes shining. He gently places the capsule inside the pumpkin, embedding it deep into its pulpy flesh before covering it with a candle. He reaches over and strokes her face, his long fingers caressing her cheek.

"There," he says. " _Now_ it's perfect."

She smiles, relieved to not have disappointed him. She reaches up and wraps her fingers around his wrist, planting a series of light kisses on his hand.

"I'm so excited for tonight," she whispers, joy in her misty eyes.

He strokes a finger slowly across her lips, down the the upturned corners, over her Cupid's bow. "Me too."

As concerned as he is about her involvement, as worried he is about her ruining the night, ruining his plans, ruining everything, he wants her there. He wants her beside him as they watch Gotham's citizens tear each other apart, screaming as they spiral into madness, terror in their eyes as they suffocate on their nightmares.

He'd watched with a mixture of pride and glee as she charmed Leland into her trap, laughing when he saw her smile as Leland stiffened in her seat, her eyes wide in horror. He'd felt triumph swell in his chest as she'd walked out of the room, cool and calm, impressed with herself and pleased at what she had done.

She'd crossed a line and there was now going back—she is now his, his for the rest of her life, his forever. She's given up everything to be with him, all without being asked or pressured. She's proven herself over and over again to be loyal to him and him alone. He has so much as to whisper a word and it his her command. She lives to impress him, lives to be his; their lives are forever entwined, and she will never be the same again.

Tonight, she will prove herself again.

He cups her chin with his hand, looking into her eyes.

"Do you love me?" he asks.

She drowns in the blue of his eyes, unblinking. "More than anything," she whispers.

He smiles. "Good."

He rises from the floor and gently grabs her by the wrists, lifting her up.

"Go get dressed. We've got a big night ahead of us."


	17. Chapter 17

Light rain drizzles onto her shoulders as Teagan opens the doors off Arkham Asylum; droplets fall from the brim of her wide, black hat and hit the floor as she walks through the doorway. She cradles the Jack-O-Lantern in her arms and smiles, adjusting the skirt of her traditional "witch" costume.

Tonight is Arkham Asylum's annual Halloween fundraiser, where Gotham's elite and rich dress up in lavish costumes and gather in a large and elaborately decorated conference room on an upper floor of the institution, well out of earshot of the howling and screams of the patients. The staff spares no expense preparing for the event; there are no paper mache pumpkins or cheap orange and black streamers—instead, tall, elegant candelabras light the room, sheer black drapes hang from the ceiling, black roses serve as centerpieces on several small dining tables, and hand-carved pumpkins adorn the catering table, where a few interns wear forced smiles and serve the guests gourmet food and expensive alcohol.

The morbid atmosphere of the asylum lends to the look and feel of the party; undoubtedly, the guests must get a real kick out of attending a Halloween party in an actual mental institution. With extra security constantly surveying the building and the patients completely out of sight, it's easy for them to trivialize the fact that they are in the same building as the criminally insane—in their minds, the inmates are worlds away from them. After all, money equals invincibility in Gotham.

Teagan's stomach turns as she thinks about the guests laughing, dressed in their expensive costumes and eating rich food as the patients sob and scream in the cell block, dragging their nails across the floor as tears and drool slide down their faces. She wonders if the wealthy attendants would still find the party in good taste after catching a glimpse of Arkham's inhabitants. The fact that the staff is so willing to exploit the institution for donations sickens her; the doctors can claim that it's for the good of the asylum and patients all they want—she's sure the large bonuses they each receive is a motivating factor as well.

Disgusting.

She looks up to see a large, burly security guard walking towards her, his thick hand on his belt. "You got an invitation, ma'am?" he asks gruffly, his eyes lingering on her fishnet-clad legs.

She forces a smile and reaches into her pocket, retrieving her Arkham ID. "I'm helping with the party tonight," she says, handing him the card. He takes it from her, swallowing the slender plastic between his beefy fingers.

"Teagan James, Intern" he reads, before handing the card back to her. He smiles, his teeth stained yellow from coffee and cigarettes, and gestures towards the pumpkin in her arms. "That for the party?"

"Yes."

He nods, his eyes traveling over her one final time before flashing her another predatory smile. "You have fun tonight, Miss James," he says, winking at her.

"Oh, I definitely will," she says, smirking as she walks towards the elevator.

* * *

 

"Miss James!" Leland exclaims, smiling as Teagan walks into the conference room. She is dressed as an old-fashioned nurse, her all-white outfit bright in the dark room, a small white hat resting atop her head.

"Hello, Dr. Leland. Are you feeling any better? I heard that you were rushed to the hospital a few weeks ago."

"Oh, I'm fine," Leland says, placing her hand on Teagan's shoulder. She flinches inwardly and grits her teeth, revolted by her touch. "It was just a panic attack, nothing serious. I don't even remember it happening." She cocks her head to the side, a quizzical look on her face. "How did you hear—"

"Joan!" a voice calls, and Leland turns to see Crane crossing the room. Teagan's breath catches in her throat as he walks towards them, his lithe body clad in a black suit, wearing a black shirt under his buttoned-up jacket. His blue eyes peer from behind a dark red masquerade mask, adorned with a deep gold trim.

"Jonathan! I love your costume!" Leland touches his arm playfully, grinning at him. Teagan watches as he swallows, uncomfortable. She wonders why Leland feels the need to touch everyone she comes into contact with—yet another reason to loathe her. She fights back a giggle as she remembers her stiff behind her desk, her eyes wide with fear.

"Thank you," Crane says, nodding. He looks at Teagan, feigning confusion. "Miss James? What are you doing here?"

"Teagan volunteered to help us tonight," Leland says, beaming at her. "Isn't that wonderful of her?"

Teagan forces a small smile. "It's nothing," she says, "I had such a wonderful experience interning here that I wanted to show my gratitude."

"That's very noble of you," Crane replies. He gestures towards the pumpkin in her arms. "That looks quite heavy—why don't you place it on the catering table with the other Jack-O-Lanterns?"

"Alright," she says, nodding. "Excuse me, then." She smiles at both of them before crossing the room and walking towards the table. She nods at the interns, bored, pained expressions on their faces, before gently placing the pumpkin among the others.

"Why don't you guys sit down and take a break?" she asks. "I can take care of this for a little while."

They breath a collective sigh of relief. "Are you sure?" a girl with short, blonde hair asks, raising her eyebrows.

"It's no problem. I just got here, you deserve a break."

The interns look at each other before nodding at Teagan, smiling. "Thank you," the girl says before quickly walking away with the others, as if she was scared that she would change her mind.

Teagan walks behind the table, surveying the crowd. She watches as the guests sit at their tables, scooping food into their mouths. She watches as they "ooh" and "ahh" over each other'scostumes, their vanity appalling. She watches as Leland drifts through the crowd along with the other doctors, shaking hands and laughing with the guests, appealing to their egos in an effort to milk them of every dollar.

She finds them all revolting, every single last one of them. She is appalled by their narcissism, by their greed, by their artificial interest. They don't deserve their money or their power. They don't even deserve to breathe. She finds their sense of superiority laughable; at least the patients in the cell block below them don't feel the need to impress others, or flaunt their materialism in a desperate attempt for approval.

She retrieves a lighter from her pocket and begins the light the pumpkins, an orange glow illuminating the table.

Her heart beats quickly with excitement, thumping in her chest. Ever since inventing his fear gas, he's been able to recreate the toxin into several forms—a serum, a liquid. Tonight, Gotham's wealthy elite and the Arkham staff are going to be the unfortunate recipients of Crane's new creation: a capsule that releases the fear gas when exposed to heat.

She looks up and sees Crane looking at her from a corner across the room. He nods, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a small, black gas mask, smiling at her before placing the mask on his face.

She smiles back at him, swelling with pride. She reaches into her pocket and retrieves her own mask, glancing around the room; when she is satisfied that no one is looking at her, she lifts the mask to her face, fastening it.

She picks up the lighter, staring at their Jack-O-Lantern.

She remembers her first day at Arkham Asylum. She remembers being scared, nervous, apprehensive. She remembers being awkward, unsure of herself, intimidated. She will be forever grateful that Crane took her, changed her, made her more like him, made her whole, made her complete. She is not like these other people, not anymore, and she will never be like them again.

Arkham Asylum brought them together, and now they will tear Arkham Asylum apart.

She smiles and lights the candle.

 


	18. Chapter 18

_Teagan frantically kicks her legs, struggling to keep her head above water as wave after waves envelops her, her body limp against the river's crushing force. She chokes as water enters her nose and mouth, filling her lungs. She feels a small, cold hand on her ankle and lets out a garbled scream before being jerked violently underwater. She kicks harder and reaches down to claw at her attacker, feeling only water underneath her hands._

_Between her pounding heart and lack of oxygen, her chest feels as if it is on fire, her lungs burning. Her vision begins to blur as she sinks lower and lower into the seemingly bottomless river, the bright sun above her slowly fading away as she drifts into cold darkness._

_Panic consumes her as her kicks begins to slow, her body tired and weak from her struggle. She opens her mouth and lets out a final, defeated scream as she is swallowed by the endless darkness of the river._

"Miss James! Miss James!"

Teagan's eyelids fly open as she gasps, her throat raw and dry. She squints as she is bathed in a bright, yellow light and she sits up quickly, confused. Her hands slip out from beneath her and she falls; she lands on her elbows, letting out a small yelp as sharp pain rushes through her arms. She feels something soft and pulpous beneath her hands and looks down to see that she is lying in a pile of shattered pumpkins, her body covered in their destroyed remnants, her hair and clothes matted with their stringy pulp.

"Be careful!"

She feels hands on her shoulder and she looks up into the face of Joan Leland, her eyes wide and bloodshot. Teagan blinks, trying to focus her vision, and grips the side of the overturned catering table, raising herself to a sitting position.

"What happened?" Teagan whispers, her voice raspy.

Leland looks at her, her face shiny and coated with wet trails of makeup. She swallows. "I—I don't know," she replies, her voice shaking.

Teagan takes a deep, composing breath, struggling to collect her thoughts. "The last thing I remember was standing at the catering table. I-"

She stops, her breath catching in her throat.

_Oh_.

Her eyes leave Leland and travel across the room, surveying the damage.

Shattered plates of food and broken wine glasses litter the floor, surrounded by overturned tables. Crushed roses spill out of cracked vases, their petals smashed. The drapes have been ripped from the ceiling and lie in crumpled heaps, torn and soiled with food.

Her chest swells with pride as she watches the Arkham Staff and their guests lift themselves from the floor, their bodies bruised and bloodied, some of them sporting self-inflicted black eyes and scratch marks. Their damp hair clings to their faces, their costumes ripped and soaked with their sweat and tears. They look at each other, exchanging frightened, confused expressions, trembling from fear and shock, amazed at their surroundings.

They won't remember any of their hallucinations—Jonathan had made sure of that.

Teagan rises to her feet, wiping pumpkin innards from her dress. She winces as she gingerly touches a scraped knee, exposed through torn fishnets, blood dripping down her leg. As she dabs at the wound with the hem of her dress, she is wryly thankful that she was restrained during her first experience with the toxin—she'd had much less injuries.

"We need to call the police," Joan says, struggling to keep her voice level. She leans against to table, her expression dazed.

Teagan nods; they had expected and prepared for this. She hides her disgust as she reaches over and helps Joan to her feet, the usual calm and composed psychiatrist still shaking from fear.

"It was probably The Joker," Leland says quickly, her eyes widening with realization.

"What?"

"The Joker," Leland repeats, more to herself than Teagan. "I had heard rumors that he had a new gas he was using during robberies...he must have heard about tonight's fundraiser, it was in the paper..."

Her voice trails off and she brings a hand to her mouth, terrified.

Teagan bites her lip, resisting the overwhelming urge to smile at Leland's predictability; with the recent rash of crime attributed to Joker and his henchmen, Jonathan knew that she'd assume tonight's incident was of his doing, never knowing that the true perpetrators were right under her nose.

"You should call the police, Dr. Leland," Teagan says with forced, artificial gentleness. Leland nods absentmindedly, reaching into her pocket for her cellphone.

Teagan waits until Leland has walked away, her shaking voice blending into the frightened murmuring of the room's occupants, before reaching down and sifting through the destroyed pumpkins. She breathes a small sigh of relief when her fingers rake across the warm and slightly melted capsule She quickly places it in her pocket next to her gas mask before leaning down and shielding her face with her hands, unable to keep a small smile from spreading across her lips.

* * *

 

"Feeling better?" Crane smirks as Teagan steps out of the shower, towel-drying her hair.

" _Much_ better," Teagan says, slipping on her robe, breathing a relaxing sigh as the silk rubs against her skin. She walks into the bedroom, smiling at Crane. "So how did we do?"

He gestures towards the large, neatly-stacked pile of money and jewelry on the desk in front of him. "Very, _very_ well."

She grins and lays down on the bed, giggling as she sinks into the soft pillows. Crane watches as she reaches for a bottle of lotion on the bedside table, squirting a liberal amount into her hand before rubbing the ointment over her legs. He feels a twinge in his stomach as he watches her trail her fingers slowly across her smooth skin, the loosely-tied robe exposing her flesh.

"Do you know what Leland said?" She looks at him behind a raised leg, smiling. "'It's a good thing Dr. Crane always leaves these parties early.'"

Crane smiles and rises from his desk. She bites her lower lip in excitement as he lowers himself onto the bed next to her, before reaching over and brushing her wet hair behind her ears.

"Watching her tearfully babble to the police was completely worth being gassed," she continues, grinning widely. "But it wasn't nearly as fun as watching her rip her hair out in panic while we were grabbing everyone's things. That look on her face..."

She buries her face in the pillow, muffling her giggles. Crane beams, delighted with her cruelty.

"I would have liked to have left with you, of course," she says, "But I realize it would have been suspicious if I left, especially since I'd just arrived. Gassing myself for authenticity was a nice touch." She looks up at him, her eyes wide and earnest. "Did I do everything right?"

He nods, giving her a small smile. "Perfect."

Happiness wells in her chest at his approval; she'd made him proud of her, maybe even impressed him. She laces her fingers through his, feeling as if she could burst with joy.

"You should have seen everyone's face when they noticed their wallets and jewelry were missing."

Crane lets out a small laugh. "I can only imagine."

She leans against his chest, sighing. She closes her eyes, tired from the night's events.

"That was fun. We should do that again."

"We will. Soon."

 


	19. Chapter 19

Crane sits behind his desk at Arkham Asylum, reclining in his chair, a small smile on his lips. His eyes are closed and his head is full of visions of the ill-fated Arkham party, memories of the staff's screams almost musical as they echo in his ears.

Crane straightens when he hears a knock at the door. "Come in," he says briskly, adjusting his tie and picking up a pen, pretending to look as if he was deep in his work.

The door opens to reveal Dr. Leland, her face weary and devoid of her usual cheerful grin. "Hello, Dr. Crane," she says quietly. "I hope I am not interrupting you."

Crane clears his throat. "Not at all. Please, come in."

Leland slowly walks into the room, her body trembling slightly. Ever since the incident at the fundraiser, Leland has not been herself; her happy, smiling demeanor has now been replaced by a tired, nervous expression. Instead of socializing with the staff, she now hides in her office, completing her work with only the light of her desk lamp for company.

Crane has found it difficult to keep from laughing every time he sees her; he has broken her, crushed her happiness under his foot, destroyed her sense of safety.

He watches as she lowers herself into the seat in front of his desk, biting his lower lip to keep from smiling as she nervously digs her nails into the arms of the chair.

He swallows his laughter and forces a concerned expression. "Are you alright, Joan?"

"What? Oh, yes. I'm fine. Thank you for asking." She crosses her legs and places her hands in her lap; Crane suspects to conceal their uncontrollable shaking.

"You know, Joan, I realize that you have been through a terrible ordeal." Crane removes his glasses and places them on the desk, his face a mask of artificial concern and care. He looks into her eyes, trying not to smile as he watches a tear roll down her cheek. "If you ever want to talk about what happened, you can come to me anytime."

Joan manages a small smile, wiping the tear from her face. "Thank you so much, Jonathan." She sighs heavily, her shoulders heaving. "I've just felt so...frightened since everything has happened. Like I'll never be safe again." She wipes away another tear before sniffing.

"I can't imagine what you must have gone through."

She nods silently, wetting her lips. "It was..." She sighs again before giving Crane a wry smile. "I'm glad you managed to escape unharmed, Jonathan. It seems your lack of interest in company parties has finally paid off."

Crane smiles. "I suppose you are right."

Leland nods, blinking back tears. A few silent moments pass before Crane clears his throat.

"Was there something I could help you with, Joan?"

Leland jumps, startled out of her daze, before quickly straightening, regaining her composure.

"Yes, I—I just wanted to get the files from the Smith case."

"Certainly." Crane reaches into his desk and retrieves a bulky folder, placing it in front of Leland with a small _thud_. "Terrible case, isn't it?"

Leland nods sadly in agreeance. "Absolutely horrible. By all accounts they were a normal, successful couple. And now..." Leland shudders. "It's almost as if they lost their minds overnight."

"Tragic. I was actually about to go meet Mr. Smith—it's time for his therapy."

"Of course." Leland rises from her chair and extends her trembling hand. Crane quickly fills his arms with files, pretending to ignore her outstretched offer.

Leland drops her hand to her side. "Thank you so much, Jonathan," she says quietly. "For everything."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're the first person since...who hasn't looked at me with _pity_. Thank you. That really, really means a lot to me. I may have to take you up on that conversation you offered."

Laughter fills his chest, threatening to burst through his lips. "Of course. Anytime."

* * *

 

Brad J. Smith sits across from Crane in the padded interrogation room, their bodies separated by a long, thin table. A trail of saliva seeps of out of Smith's mouth, collecting in a wet pool on his orange Arkham-issued shirt.

"I apologize for the sedating you so heavily, Mr. Smith," Crane says, leaning back in his chair. "But considering what you did to your wife, I'm afraid that it's quite necessary."

Crane sighs, adjusting his glasses.

"I'd also like to apologize for the other night. I'm afraid my friend was a little heavy-handed with my toxin and used quite a bit more than was needed. But, in her defense, neither of us could have known that you would fly into such a frenzy that you'd attack your wife. Really, Mr. Smith, you have a _very_ nasty violent streak. But that's okay. We'll work on that while you're here."

Smith looks straight ahead, his eyes glazed over. It is doubtful that he can hear Crane.

"Really, I feel like some of this is my fault. If my friend and I hadn't broken into your penthouse and tried to rob you, none of this would have happened. But I can't take all of the blame. After all, you're the one who viciously murdered your wife in a fit of panic. But don't worry. During your therapy, you'll learn how to start taking responsibility for your actions."

Crane carefully places his briefcase on top of the table, fumbling with the locks.

"Although, I guess it's really not important how well you react to your therapy—your wife's parents are very influential in Gotham, and I doubt they'll ever want you to get out of here."

Smith sits still, not blinking, his chin wet and shining.

"I do have one question though, Mr. Smith."

The briefcase unlocks with a _click_ , and Crane reaches inside, smiling as his finger graze across the burlap.

"Would you like to see my mask?"

**The End**


End file.
